


Dreams

by KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dream Sex, For Science John, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Outdoor Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4804853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was the first Sherlock story I ever wrote. It's taken a year, but I've returned to it and added a second chapter.</p><p>Beta'd by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockholmesconsultingvampire/pseuds/sherlockholmesconsultingvampire">Sherlockholmesconsultingvampire</a> who is amazing and puts up with my constant emails.</p><p>Please comment! ILY</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Every night the dream is the same.

We’re on a case, we’ve tracked the culprit down and Lestrade is on route to arrest him. Sherlock has the happy look of someone who has completed an impossible task, his eyes sparkling bright as moonlight as we wait for the police. Sherlock paces nervously, catlike, tense and impossibly straight backed.

Once it’s done and we’re alone once more, we’re walking down a dark alley towards Baker Street, a comfortable silence settling over us as we wander in a busy and loud London. I glimpse at Sherlock who has a strange look in his eyes, one I’ve never seen before. His blue eyes bore into mine with hunger and I’m surprised at the predatory lust I see in them; he licks his lips slowly, dragging his pink wet tongue over his dry cupid bow lips. My eyebrows quirk up in confusion as I watch him turn to me, grabbing my arms and pinning them above my head against the cold brickwork.

My heart beats quickly; steady but hard, but not as hard as my cock which presses painfully against the placket of my jeans. Sherlock brings his face closer to mine, so close that I can smell the faint lingering coffee scent from his mouth and a trace of cigarette smoke, he’s been smoking again. We’ll have to talk about that later. His pupils are huge and blown with lust as he brushes his lips against the sensitive skin of my throat.

“Say yes,” he whispers, the sound barely a rumble in the darkness. A kiss barely touches my neck.

I attempt to verbalise yes, but instead choke out a moan as his teeth nip at my skin.

“Say yes,” he repeats. His deep voice shudders against my body.

“Yes… please Sherlock… god yes,” I mumble, my arousal reaching boiling point and sending molten lava around my veins.

His lips touch mine; a simple brush which sends shivers down my spine to explode like fireworks in my nerves. His tongue flicks out to rub against my bottom lip as I groan and pull his crotch towards mine, desperate for that delightful friction against the hard, angular body of my housemate. I feel him smile against my mouth as we kiss and his long fingers trail over my face and neck softly, remembering every imperfection in his remarkable mind. I push closer to him, desperate, feeling like I’m drowning in sensation as our tongues caress and dance together.

My eyes roll back as I feel his hands releasing mine against the wall to open the button on my jeans, unzipping the flies fluidly so he can push his hand inside. I look around nervously, I don’t want to be caught and arrested for public lewdness but Sherlock smiles and lets his fingers trail around the waistband of my underwear, whispering and letting me know that we’re alone. Sherlock pushes inside my jeans and takes me in hand, stroking softly but firmly which feels like too much but not nearly enough at the same time. My legs buckle as his thumb rubs over the tip of my shaft, his violin callused fingers feeling so very different to my own. His skin is soaked with my precum as he spreads the wetness around my glans before pulling back my foreskin and pumping his hand in a steady rhythm.

I groan loudly, which he swallows with a kiss before whispering encouraging words into my ear as he licks and sucks my earlobe. I feel my orgasm wash over me as he growls, “Come for me, John,” in his _oh so deep sexy_ voice and I explode over his hand, a choke and moan escaping my lips as seemingly endless rivers of cum coat my underwear and his skin.

Sherlock pulls his hands away and brings them to his lips to taste my still warm, salty cum from his fingers. I watch as he sucks them indecently before smiling and rearranging his own erection. He turns away and continues to walk, his long jacket trailing behind him as I attempt to put my softening cock away and catch up. We walk home to Baker Street in silence once more. Excited for the night to come…

The dream is always the same, and I awake to the feeling of longing.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

I awoke from another of my dreams; in it Sherlock had finished me inside my underwear but in reality, I awoke with the largest and hardest erection I could remember for a long time. The tip was almost crimson with need and leaking clear fluid already which created a spot on the bedding. My hands automatically circled the shaft with thumb and forefinger, pulling the loose skin up and down slowly, building my climax. I pulled on my low hanging balls, realising that the hair had grown slightly longer than I would normally keep it and I frowned at my laziness at not keeping it trimmed; although I was going through a dry patch, you never know when you might meet somebody.

My fingers continued stroking along my balls, down the hot crease between my balls and arse as my cock twitched in arousal. I realised I couldn’t hold off the climax much longer, I was desperate to come and my whole body thrummed with need. I wrapped my hand tightly around my cock, ensuring that my foreskin was pulled down with each hard tug; my plentiful wetness was the perfect lubricant and I stroked harder and faster, my back arching from the bed as the tingle of my orgasm grew, my other hand tightened around the bedding as my hips slapped up to meet my hand, my groans were getting louder, my breathing deeper as my eyes closed in bliss, I was so close to the edge now, so close.

The door opened with a slam which forced me to open my eyes in a panic, Sherlock stood in my doorway watching me with a smug look on his face as I desperately tried to cover my erection which by now was bobbing up and down desperate to cum. I covered myself with the bedding and shouted angrily at Sherlock, asking him what he was doing and why he didn’t knock before coming in.

“You’re normally done with this by now,” he said, waiving dismissively at my crotch with his hand. “I assumed you would be sated.”

“I… What do you mean I’m normally done? How do you know that?” I asked angrily, my face pink from exertion and embarrassment.

“Oh John, you awaken every morning with an erection which normally takes you between 14 and 17 minutes to finish off. Then you get up, have a shower and make me breakfast. I assumed you had overslept,” Sherlock said without looking away from my face.

“Well… I haven’t, I mean, I didn’t oversleep… why are you here?” I asked nervously.

“Oh, Lestrade called, something about a case," Sherlock replied with a coy smile, “something about a forgery but we don’t have to go. We can work here today if you like.”

I pulled my hands up to my hair, gripping tightly as I took a deep breath to let the feelings of disappointment and frustration melt away.

“Ok, fine, give me a minute. I need to get dressed then we can go,” I said with a harsh tone, the anger evident in my voice at being interrupted when so close to release.

“John,” Sherlock started, a nervous and almost shy look on his face as he made eye contact. “Can I watch?”

My heart fluttered madly and my stomach flipped as the realisation of his question sunk in. I looked over at Sherlock who looked at me curiously, awaiting my answer.

“I… I mean… why?” I asked timidly, afraid of the answer.

“Strictly scientific, I’ve never witnessed anybody else doing it and I want to see if the mechanics are basically the same,” he answered, his pale eyes lingering a moment too long.

I sighed deeply, unwilling to give Sherlock the satisfaction of getting his own way yet extremely aroused by the idea. I couldn’t trust myself to speak so instead nodded my head and moved further over in the bed, creating a space for him to sit. He moved closer and sat on the mattress, laying his back against the headboard as he got comfortable. I watched him for a moment until we both sat silently, the only noise being our breathing and the traffic outside the window.

“So… are you going to get on with it then?” Sherlock asked impatiently, his hands together, the fingers pointing at his lips as he eyed me up and down.

I cleared my throat nervously, my hands twitching at the sheet before I pulled it down to rest around my knees. My cock had managed to stay mostly hard despite Sherlock’s interruption and ached for my touch; I ran my fingers up and down the length feeling the soft skin slide over the shaft. I didn’t dare look at Sherlock in case I prematurely finished, so instead I closed my eyes and listened to the soft breathing coming from my left, the smell of Sherlock intoxicating in my nostrils as his warmth pressed against my side.

I twisted my wrist as I reached my tip, feeling the pulses rush from my glans at the amazing sensations and I gasped slightly, a moan escaping my lips which was enough to cause Sherlock’s breathing to hitch almost unperceptively, perhaps if I hadn’t been so close I wouldn’t have heard but I knew he was affected by the view. He quickly moved further down the bed so our heads lay next to one another on the pillows, the scent of his body more powerful now. He still had the smell of sleep lingering around him, yet the other Sherlockian smells of tobacco, chemicals and his own spice mingled in the air.

“Tell me how it feels,” he whispered, his voice deep and low in my ear.

“It… It would be better if it was someone else’s hand,” I choked, “but it feels good, so good, I just need to come.”

Time seemed to stand still as Sherlock batted my hand away from my crotch, replacing it with his much larger hand. His elegantly long fingers stroked my length before wrapping it into his fist, pumping up and down quickly; my hips bucked against his hand and moans spluttered from my lips as the most intense orgasm of my life built.

Sherlock turned his head; his breathing tickled my ear as I focussed on remembering to suck in breaths. I could feel his gaze on me, his ocean green eyes staring intently at my flushed face as I desperately fucked into his fist. His hand continued stroking faster and harder, bringing me ever closer to my release; I groaned and whimpered but despite the sensations, I couldn’t get over the edge into climax. The completely indescribable situation was causing my brain to stop thinking or focussing on anything except Sherlock, his scent, his breath, his movements. I needed more.

Sherlock seemed to read my mind and brought his lips closer to my ear; he whispered low, a dizzying comment I had always wanted to hear from him but never expected… “Come for me John,” followed by a hard nip to my earlobe; sucking deeply, he listened as I came, lifting his head from my skin in time to watch the first shot of ejaculate reach my neck.

I quickly came undone; shot after shot of wetness covered my stomach and chest. I gasped and arched my back painfully as stars exploded behind my eyes and tingles erupted in my stomach as my orgasm continued longer than ever before. Eventually I recovered my senses and moved Sherlock’s hand away from my crotch as I had become insanely sensitive and each touch was almost painful.

We laid together in my bed; Sherlock was still lying on his side, his hot breath against my ear as I tried to piece my shattered mind back together. Sherlock was in my bed, Sherlock had made me come, and Sherlock had spoken into my ear which had set off the greatest orgasm of my life… I had no idea what to do next. This was not mutual wanks in army barracks after a battle or raid when adrenalin was pumping and causing awkward erections which would be sated in silence by another man so long as you did the same for him. This was my flatmate, the man I was rapidly believing to be my best friend, my work mate.

Sherlock himself was seemingly dozing by my side; he lay in silence, occasionally moving his hand over my stomach or chest, dipping his fingers in my rapidly cooling pools of semen before spreading them around like a demented finger painter. When I had eventually gotten my breath back I looked over at Sherlock. "So… did you learn anything from your scientific experiment?" I asked with a smile.

"No… I’ll need more data," he replied, a cheeky glint in his eye.


End file.
